


Come Alone

by Stuffle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Anal Sex, Dark, Dom/sub, Exes, Light Bondage, Lying for Sex, M/M, Manipulative Tom Riddle, Topping from the Bottom, magical bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-07 05:28:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17954435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stuffle/pseuds/Stuffle
Summary: Emboldened by a prophecy, Harry goes alone to rescue Sirius from Voldemort. Instead, he finds his old boyfriend, Tom Riddle.





	Come Alone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Little Red's Writing Hood](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Little+Red%27s+Writing+Hood).



> This was started as a live write on Valentines Day. Thank you to everyone who participated and gave me your favorite tropes to use! And massive thanks to RedHorse for the beta! <3<3<3

The High Seer Cassandra Trelawney had been missing for years when she stumbled out of the woods surrounding Hogsmeade. She was as pale as the dead person she’d been presumed to be. She stopped in front of the quickly-growing crowd and raised her voice.

"There will be one, come alone,  
who speaks the snake tongue,  
with the power to defeat the Dark Lord." 

She was quickly silenced by the Death Eaters, but news of her words travelled fast through the land, and the Order of the Phoenix learned of the prophecy before its repetition was suppressed.

The Order was filled with cautious hope in the losing battle against the Dark Lord Voldemort. They knew of only one that spoke parseltongue, but Tom Riddle, Harry's childhood-best-friend-turned-lover, had not been seen since the beginning of the war, ten years ago. They started a search, looking for either Tom or another that could speak the language of snakes.  
  
They didn’t know that Harry met the requirements; he had told very few about his ability. Tom had warned him that parseltongue was considered a dark trait, present only in descendants of those that had dabbled in the darkest of arts. The Dursleys had known, but they were dead now—targeted at the very beginning of the war for some unknown reason.

Sirius had been taken by Voldemort and Harry itched to do something. The Order had been planning a rescue mission for some time, but had dubbed it too risky.  
  
But Harry was emboldened by the prophecy. If he, _come alone_ , could defeat the dark lord, then surely he could rescue Sirius.

Snape reported that lately Lord Voldemort had been spending an unusual amount of time at the Black family home, Grimmauld Place, where Harry was sure Sirius was being held. Voldemort had taken over many of the old families’ homes, but only when they could be controlled through a family member. Locations had power, and he had become a master of using them to his advantage.

And so Harry Apparated by himself to the edge of the magic-dense forest surrounding Grimmauld Place.

The once thriving old-growth trees were now withering. The formerly green leaves had fallen to the ground and the bark was streaked with black. It could only mean the remaining local magic was no longer enough to sustain the woods, but the Order had not been able to figure out where the magic was being redirected.  
  
Snape had reported that the forest was full of monsters and traps. He had briefed the Order on ways to avoid the threats, but had warned that even after traveling through several times, he still ran afoul of the dangers.  
  
Harry followed his instructions the best he could. He thought he made a couple mistakes, like brushing against the branch of a Whomping Willow before quickly jumping away. But the tree was still, so Harry thanked his fast reflexes and luck for saving him.  
  
When he made it to the clearing surrounding Grimmauld Place without any problems, he had a petty surge of pleasure. He had done something Snape struggled with, and on his first try.

Harry carefully examined the area. There were no people standing guard. Was Voldemort really so arrogant as to think he could rely solely on house magic to keep people out? Did he not know that Harry, as Sirius' godson, was connected to the ancient home?  
  
Grimmauld Place itself showed none of the signs of hardship the forest had. It stood as proud as ever, looking unique from the other old family homes due to its origins as a Muggle townhouse.  
  
Harry knelt and placed a palm on the grass, reaching out to the house magic. It welcomed him. Could getting in really be so simple?

To Harry's surprise, it was.

The first thing Harry noticed inside Grimmauld Place were the heads in the entryway. They had once been house elf heads, but now they were the heads of Voldemort's former enemies.  
  
Harry's eye was instantly drawn to the dark hair of his most recent ex, Cedric. His hand flew to his mouth as he smothered a sob. Cedric's face was vacant, but otherwise exactly how Harry remembered it. Cedric had been dead nine years, but what was on display had been perfectly preserved.  
  
Harry and Cedric had not dated long. They'd gotten together during a time of mutual grief. Cedric had just lost his long time girlfriend, Cho Chang, and Harry had needed someone to fill the gaping hole Tom had left in his life. Cedric had been a brave warrior in the fight against the dark, so much so that Voldemort had killed him personally.

He forced his gaze away from the macabre sight and took a steadying breath. He couldn’t think of Cedric now. He was on a mission.  
  
He put his hand to the wall and thought of Sirius. A tingle of magic flowed through him as the house welcomed him. An image of the dusty attic surfaced in his mind. He was about to pull away, when a blurred image of Sirius yelling something appeared accompanied by a sense of wrongness. Harry frowned and closed his eyes, but the image of the attic strengthened, and his vision of Sirius faded.

He let go of his link with the house and cautiously made his way up the floors, careful to avoid the stairs that creaked. Again, he met no obstacles.  
  
He climbed the steps of the ladder and pressed his hand against the door of the attic. He called out to the house magic and it answered him in a warm rush. The door clicked open. He pressed his shoulder against it, opening it as he climbed up. With a final push, the door clanged against the floor above.  
  
Harry peered in, hoping to see Sirius. But it was not Sirius that he saw.

Instead, Tom Riddle knelt by the opening.

Harry inhaled sharply. Not only was Tom alive, but he looked well. His hair was as neat as he remembered and he looked well-cared-for in a pristine, dark green robe. He had barely aged in the ten years he'd been gone. One thing was different though—his eyes. They were the same unnerving red hue as Voldemort's.  
  
"T—Tom?"  
  
"Harry!" He smiled. “It's so good to see you again.” He held a hand out to help Harry up the rest of the way. Harry took it, relishing in the warmth of Tom's touch. He crawled onto the clean wooden flooring of the attic and knelt beside his former lover.  
  
"Are you alright? What happened?" Harry asked, looking back and forth between Tom's red eyes.  
  
"Lord Voldemort has held me prisoner since the beginning of the war. He formed a bond between us that has prevented me from returning to you."

Harry grabbed Tom's hand with both of his and squeezed gently, urging him to continue.  
  
Tom looked at him consideringly. "It's been hard. He's made me do things...but there is a way to break the bond, one that is only possible now that you're here."  
  
Harry gripped Tom's hand tighter. It felt so good to feel him, after all of these years. He didn’t hesitate. "Tell me how."  
  
"I can replace his bond with another, but it has to be someone I have a deep connection with. It can only be you, Harry."

Harry blinked, astounded that Tom still felt so strongly about him after ten years apart. "Tom…"  
  
"Will you help me?" Tom clasped his second hand around Harry's and held his sandwiched hand tightly.

“I...yes. But will you answer a question for me first? Just to confirm that you’re you.”

Tom nodded.

Harry thought for a moment. “When did we first kiss?”

Tom smiled at the memory, relaxing. “When we ran into each other sneaking around the Restricted Section in fourth year, just after you’d refused my offer to help you with with the second task in the Triwizard Tournament.”  
  
Harry let out the breath he’d been holding. This was _Tom_.

“So will you help me?”

"Of course I will."  
  
Tom looked at him with uncharacteristic vulnerability, his eyes filled with hope. "I want you to understand what's involved, Harry. Forming a magical bond of sufficient strength will involve an intimate ritual. We'll have to have sex.”

Harry blushed. He and Tom had been together many times before, but after so long, Harry had grown unaccustomed to Tom's bluntness.  
  
Harry looked around the attic. The room was bare, with only a single mattress and a chamberpot. He pictured it. "I’m fine with that."  
  
Tom's smile was radiant. "Not here. Locations have power, and I know the perfect place to make sure our bond will be strong enough."

They climbed out of the attic. Tom led Harry towards the main level when Harry stopped abruptly.  
  
"Wait," he said. "I need to find Sirius."  
  
Tom shook his head. "Sirius is not being held here. But after this, I'll help reunite you."

Harry nodded and let Tom resume leading him out. They encountered no obstacles as they left the house and proceeded into the surrounding forest.  It occurred to Harry that something was off about this.  
  
It was almost too easy....  
  
But he couldn't pinpoint anything specific that was wrong and if something did pop up, he now had Tom to help him.  
  
They reached the edge of the forest and Tom took Harry's hand once more. He turned on the spot, Apparating them away.

They appeared in the middle of a beautiful meadow. The sun shone on Harry’s back, warming him, and the air was fragrant with the scent of the flowers that came to their knees. Seven crystalline, glowing trees of different hues surrounded them.  
  
"This is the center of the land. Lord Voldemort has connected the other magical hotspots to pool their magic here." Tom gestured to the trees, then walked forward, guiding Harry towards a round area where the flowers and grass had been cut short. There were lines and symbols crisscrossing the circle.

Harry dropped Tom's hand. "How do you already have a ritual circle prepared? You couldn't have known I was coming."  
  
Tom's face was carefully blank. "I have been hoping to do this for some time now. I wanted to go looking for you several times, but you have kept yourself well-hidden. Not even Lord Voldemort could get to you."  
  
Harry frowned. He couldn't shake the feeling that something about this whole situation—about Tom—felt off.  
  
Tom noticed his hesitation. "Harry, just before coming here, I broke my bond with Lord Voldemort. If we don't replace it soon, my life is at risk."

Harry gulped. Then he set his reservations aside. He wouldn’t go back on his word now.

“Okay, I’ll do it.”

Tom’s smile was blinding. “Come,” he said.

He led Harry to the center of the ritual circle, where several items sat. There was an odd, iridescent stone, shimmering with a prismatic glow. It was shaped like a rod, but with smooth bumps along the length. Next to it were leather straps infused with a similar stone.

Several images of himself begging under Tom’s skilled fingers came to mind.

Tom knelt down next to the items, looking suddenly vulnerable again. He took a deep breath. “In order to bind you to me, you will have to take control of the ritual. It’s important that this be your choice.”

Harry’s mouth felt dry. Tom had always topped. Harry enjoyed being a sub for him and wasn’t sure if he could handle the swapped dynamic.

Tom took his hand and pulled him to the ground, twisting so that Harry landed on top of him, straddling his abdomen. Tom spread his legs and looked at Harry with a tentative smile. “I trust you, Harry.”

Harry swallowed. He looked at the leather straps and rod. “What are these for?”

“They’re crystal, imbued with magic to strengthen the ritual. The ritual will draw upon my magic. My body will take energy from them and pour it into you.” Tom brushed his fingers over the leather strap with gentle hands before resting them on the first bump in the rod. “For it to work, you’ll need to put this inside of me.”

Harry’s breath left him. Tom had never let him do this. He reached for the rod in awe, but Tom stopped him.

“Not yet. Like I said, it’s important that you’re in control. Take these.” He handed Harry the leather straps.

“Tom...I can’t.”

“Yes, Harry, you can.” He guided Harry’s hand and the straps to his wrists. He brought them all above his head and looked deep into Harry’s eyes. There was unease there, but also trust.

The red hue still unnerved him, but he pushed it aside. He had to do this.

With shaky hands, Harry wrapped the leather straps around Tom’s wrist, taking care to place the stones so that they wouldn’t rub uncomfortably. He took a moment to savor the high quality leather. This time, he wouldn’t be the one to feel its texture for the duration of their activities.

Tom smiled encouragingly and tested the bonds. “You can do better than that, Harry.”

Harry blushed and tightened them. Tom gave an experimental pull and nodded. His breathing quickened and he shifted under Harry.

Harry reverently brought his hand to Tom’s face. He brushed the black hair back. “I’ll be gentle.”

Tom stilled. “I know you will.”

Harry ran his fingers through Tom’s hair. It was smooth and silky, and as perfect as he remembered. Somehow, the bit of nervousness Tom displayed gave Harry the courage he need to begin.

He trailed his fingers along Tom’s face, then neck as he went to open his old friend’s robes. The dark green fabric was nice and lightweight, but also soft and warm. He pushed it aside to reveal Tom’s chest.

Harry paused, drinking in the sight. Tom had always been attractive, but some time in the last ten years, he’d acquired a lithe definition to his muscles. Harry traced the outline of his abs, enjoying the feel of Tom’s smooth skin. Tom flexed his pecks, one at a time.

If he looked up, Harry knew he would see Tom’s self-satisfied smirk. The man loved the effect he had on Harry. When Harry was the one restrained on the bottom, Tom would render him breathless and wanting more. He would stretch out the anticipation until Harry was mad with need.

But this time, Harry was the one in control.

Harry shifted to sit between Tom’s legs as he slid his hands lower, opening the robe further. He didn’t stop in his descent as he felt the elastic waistband of Tom’s boxers, merely grabbed them and pulled them along. Tom lifted his body to help and they came off easily.

Tom’s cock was now on full display, already partially erect. His wiry pubes were neatly trimmed and Harry wondered if Tom had continued to be so meticulous in his personal grooming the whole time he had been in captivity or if Harry had just caught him at a good time.

He took another moment to appreciate the experience and this time he felt _powerful_. Tom was restrained under him, looking at him with a strange mixture of trust, self-satisfaction, and nerves. He’d never been in a position in which he could do anything he wanted to a consenting partner.

He yanked his own clothing off and shivered in the open air, thankful for the sun on his back. The grass tickled his knees.

Harry grabbed the iridescent rod. With its round bumps, it certainly looked like it had been designed to be inserted into someone. It was already slickened with some sort of lubricant. He marveled at that—how had Tom managed to keep even that part of the ritual ready to be used at any time? He truly was a great wizard.

Tom bent his knees and spread his legs further apart, exposing the pink rim of his anus. Harry slowly brought the rod to it. Tom had never allowed Harry to do this. He was always the one having things inserted into him. He met Tom’s intense gaze and paused. Those red eyes…

“Do it, Harry.” There was a vulnerability under the layer of confidence Tom projected in his voice. Harry was once again awed at the trust Tom was placing in him.

He lined the magical artefact up with Tom’s entrance. Tom tensed, and his arms moved against the leather restraints before he relaxed with a visible effort. Harry took a deep breath, then slowly eased it in. Tom quivered beneath him as each bump in the rod penetrated him. Tom’s cock rose to full attention.

“Is that okay?” Harry asked.

“Gods, yes,” Tom replied breathily.

Harry slowly pulled the rod back out before pushing it back in, faster this time. Tom gasped, squirming. Harry hardened at the sight. With his other hand, he grasped Tom’s cock. His hand moved up and down, slowly.

Tom thrust into his hand, clearly craving more friction. Harry removed his hand with a teasing grin as he met Tom’s eyes. Tom’s expression of shock was pure gold and Harry couldn’t help but laugh. Though he didn’t really mind when Tom held back, it was satisfying to have the tables turned for once.

He couldn’t resist for long though, and his hand went back to stroking Tom’s cock. Tom groaned, closing his eyes. Harry took advantage of his momentary unawareness to shift position between strokes. He leaned down and enveloped the tip of Tom’s cock with his lips, sucking gently.

Tom gasped and his red eyes flew open, locking with Harry’s. Harry smiled around his cock and ran his tongue over the slit, enjoying the familiar taste.

He took Tom further into his mouth and throat, until he could barely breathe and his nose pressed against Tom’s pubes. Tom writhed and thrust into him, his cock hitting the back of Harry’s throat. It had been a while since Harry had given anyone a blowjob, but he was able to suppress the reflexive gag.

He ran a hand down, fondling Tom’s balls before finding the end of the rod. At some point Tom had clenched his muscles, causing the object to slide halfway out. Harry pushed it back in and Tom jerked in his mouth.

“Yes,” he moaned.

Harry increased his pace, bobbing up and down on Tom’s cock while simultaneously thrusting the rod in and out. Harry’s other arm shook under the strain of balancing himself, but he didn’t mind. Tom writhed in pleasure and Harry couldn’t help but find his lack of control surprisingly hot.

“Harry,” Tom managed through his panting breaths. “Harry, stop.”

Harry did so immediately. He stilled the rod and sat up, Tom’s cock leaving his mouth with a soft plop. “Tom…?” he asked, concerned.

Tom smiled, trying to compose himself. “I have to cum inside of you.”

His gaze slid down Harry’s chest, landing lower.

“Oh,” Harry said, understanding. He blushed lightly, pushing off the ground. He crawled until he was positioned over Tom’s erect cock. He paused, waiting for Tom’s consenting nod.

When he got it, he slowly sank down. He gasped at the painful friction, assisted only by his own saliva. It was a familiar sensation and one that he enjoyed. His ability to control the pace eased the discomfort. He closed his eyes, focusing on the sweet burning sensation. He shifted as he let himself down the rest of the way and paused, taking a moment to adjust to the fullness. He took a deep breath, relishing the feeling.

Tom jerked upwards and Harry gasped, eyes shooting open. Pain mixed with pleasure. Tom thrust again, but Harry placed a palm on his muscled chest, stilling him. Tom’s arms jerked downwards, testing the restraints, but they held.

“Harry, please,” he said.

Harry wasn’t sure that he had ever heard anything so sweet. “Please, what Tom?”

Tom glared at him. “Please, fuck me.”

Harry could hardly deny him that. He pushed up and fell back down. It felt _so_ good to have Tom inside of him after so long. He adjusted the angle and repeated the motion, gasping in pleasure when Tom’s cock hit that sensitive spot inside him. He bobbed and Tom thrusted his hips upwards to meet Harry’s rhythm.

Harry’s firm cock slapped against Tom’s stomach and he reached forward, enveloping it in his own hand. He stroked in rhythm to their movements.

Tom reached climax first, coming with a loud cry and filling Harry with relieving wetness. Harry was close, so he continued his fast pace. Tom made a sound of protest, but then he too reached his peak.

There was a strong pulse of magic that heightened his senses, making the orgasm almost too much. Power coursed up his spine, swirling through his head. He writhed on top of Tom, unable to control himself amongst so many strong sensations. He came with a thick white splatter across Tom’s pale chest.

Tom slumped back, blinking slowly. His muscles went slack and he sank further into the short grass of the ritual circle. Harry was relaxed now, and he felt a pang of exhaustion, but it wasn’t nearly as strong as whatever Tom was experiencing.

Tom looked upwards with a concerning blankness. Harry furrowed his brow and leaned forward, gently shaking Tom’s shoulders. The movement jostled the now soft cock still inside him. Tom’s eyes slid fully shut.

“Tom?”

Silence. Dread coursed through Harry.

“Tom, please, answer me.”

But he didn’t. Harry remembered Tom’s previous words. _The ritual draws upon my magic._

Had it been too much? Harry frantically felt for a pulse and breathed a sigh of relief as he found it. It beat strong and at a pace reasonable for the amount of exertion Tom had been engaging in.

But his skin was growing colder at an alarming pace—much faster than a dead body would cool—and the little color he had was fading.

Harry pressed his fingers into Tom’s neck again, desperate to feel his pulse. It was still strong. Every beat was just enough to keep him from panicking completely. But if he wasn’t dying, then what was happening?

Harry watched in horror as Tom’s black hair fell away and his nose sunk into his face, leaving an indentation and only two slits for nostrils.

Tom’s pulse continued to beat steadily beneath his fingers. His frame sank in on itself, leaving him with an almost skeletal appearance. His body was decaying, yet unnaturally cold blood still thrummed within.

Harry jerked back as a terrible thought hit him. Tom’s cock, less warm now, and still inside him, hit just the right spot. The sensation was so jarring and out of place compared to his thoughts that it momentarily overwhelmed him.

The man beneath him looked a lot like Voldemort.

Harry pushed himself off in a single motion, Tom’s cock falling out with a wet sound. He stumbled back and landed on the grass.

No, the man in front of him looked exactly like Voldemort.

But it couldn’t be. That had been Tom. He had no doubt of that—there was no way anyone could have faked being his childhood friend so well.

“T-Tom?” Harry said, surprised when his voice came out small.

There was no answer. But now that Harry looked for it, he could see a slight rising and falling in the man’s chest.

“V-Voldemort?” Harry choked out, careless of any danger in saying the man’s name.

Harry’s hand slowly rose to cup the man’s jaw. He knew the face well. It was Voldemort’s face or else an exact copy. But now that he looked closer, he could recognize features of Tom’s. The line of his jaw, the shape of his eyes—

His red eyes. Harry collapsed to his knees, feeling faint.

Tom was Voldemort.

Now that he knew, he could see all of the red flags he had ignored throughout the day. How could he have been so stupid?

And...and what had he just done? Some sort of bonding ritual? He hadn’t even asked for the specifics!

Harry’s mouth felt very dry and his stomach sank. His mind fuzzed and he sat, doing nothing more than staring blankly at Tom’s emaciated body.

It looked so very dead. Live humans weren’t supposed to be so pale or thin. His lithe muscles still had definition, but it looked wrong without even the slightest amount of fat. He was entirely hairless, from his bald head, to his eyebrows, to his genitals.

Bile rose in his throat. He had just—

He took a sharp breath. But he had thought it was Tom. He hadn’t known that he was fucking himself on the darkest wizard of all time.

Tom...Tom had said he trusted him, which was rich coming from someone who probably hadn’t told a single truth the entire day, but it was undeniable that he was now alone and vulnerable in front of Harry.

Harry could still do whatever he wanted.

So then, should he do his duty as a member of the Order of the Phoenix—kill Voldemort and end the war?

But the thought brought him such a strong wave of immediate pain and nausea that he fell over, his side hitting the grass with a thud. Tears welled in his eyes. He couldn’t even bear the thought.

No, he couldn’t kill his old friend.

When the pain receded, he shakily got to his feet and dressed. He stared at Tom for a moment before laying his robe over him.

He needed to leave—to get away before Voldemort woke. He had no idea what he’d do or where he would go. Would the bond allow Voldemort to track him? He had to assume that was the case. With all the magic they had just used, the bond had to be doing _something_. But he couldn’t just stay and do nothing. Harry cursed his naivety again.

He backed away from Voldemort, making his way towards the edge of the ritual circle. He examined it now, like he should have initially, but it was complex—far beyond his comprehension.

He recognized several herbs used in potions to make otherwise incompatible ingredients blend. He also understood a couple runes. There were a couple for protection, a few relating to the mind, and several that he vaguely recognized from curiously flipping through a book on dark magic once.

The complexity of the ritual coupled with all of the power that had gone into in, could mean nothing good. He didn’t feel any different yet, but he knew that couldn’t last long.

Tom had said that he needed to bond with Harry to replace the bond he had with Voldemort, but it was obvious now that that had been a lie—designed to make Harry rush into helping him. Harry had fallen for his trap with barely a second thought.

Tom had always been a compulsive manipulator, but he had usually taken extra care to be honest with Harry. Their relationship had been deeper for their acceptance of each other’s flaws. Harry had known of Tom’s dark side, but this…

This was more than he could forgive.

Tom stirred and suddenly, Harry was overcome with a wave of grogginess. Was this an after effect of the ritual? He stumbled, barely catching himself with an arm as he fell to the ground.

“...Harry?” It was the cold, high voice of Lord Voldemort, not the tenor of his childhood friend.

“Tom,” he replied, hating the note of anguish in his voice. He wished he were mad, but instead, he felt betrayed, empty. And so very groggy.

Voldemort and him stayed silent, resting in the sunny meadow for some time. It felt wrong that the he should be surrounded by such peaceful beauty when his world was falling apart.

They both recovered around the same time. Voldemort snapped the leather bands in a single motion and Harry could just barely make out the embedded gems, which were now dull. Voldemort reached under his robe, shifting his legs.

“Harry, Harry…” Voldemort said in a way that sounded just like Tom when he was about to teasingly rebuke him. Harry hated that—the words a loved one would say, in the voice of an enemy.

There was a wet sliding noise and Voldemort removed the rod from his arse. It was now simple, ridged glass, void of its prismatic glow.

“I never expected you to forgo basic after care.”

Harry spluttered and blushed, but it didn’t match the main emotions he felt. Happiness. Humor. _Possessiveness_.

Voldemort stood, dressing quickly. He walked towards Harry, looking like a cat closing in on its defeated prey. With every step, Harry had the odd duel sensation of both increasing dread and joy.

Voldemort knelt beside him and lifted his face with both cold hands, forcing Harry to meet his unnatural gaze.

“It’s good to have you back, Harry.”

Though his dread was still there, Harry felt good and he couldn’t help but give a small nod. He knew the emotion was wrong—not his—but that did not stop him from feeling it.

“Let’s get you home, so we can rest.” Voldemort stood, pulling Harry up with him. He took Harry’s hand and led the way out of the ritual circle.

“You—you’re Voldemort.”

“Indeed.” He kept a straight face, but Harry felt smugness that was not his own.

“You tricked me,” Harry said, voice high-pitched. He hated how weak he sounded. Harry stopped walking and pulled Voldemort to a halt. They were outside the ritual circle now.

Voldemort studied him and gently carded a hand through his hair. It was a tender gesture, but his next words, spoken with complete confidence, ruined the effect.

“You’ll get over it.” Harry could feel his surety like it was his own, but with an effort of will, he shook his head.

Voldemort ignored the gesture and turned on his heel, Apparating them away.

They landed in a room Harry recognized—the foyer of Chamber of Secrets. Tom had shown him the place when they were young students and later, it had become a convenient rendezvous to shag—a private place only the two of them could access.

Now, however, the familiar room was crowded with Inferi. They stood in line, with their pale faces, limp hair, and dead eyes, like soldiers at attention.

Then he saw the High Seer, Cassandra Trelawney. Unlike the others, she was in pristine condition. If it weren’t for the pallor of her skin and absolute stillness, Harry would have said she was alive.

Voldemort’s cold fingers wrapped possessively around his shoulder and Harry jumped. Voldemort’s grip tightened in response and Harry couldn’t help but compare his hold to the death grip of an Inferi.

“Yes, Harry. Cassandra was mine all along. I’ve delved deeper into the dark arts than any man, and have discovered a better way to preserve my dead servants. I’ve even unlocked the secrets of Inferi speech. The ritual for creating each of these enhanced Inferi requires more expensive components and time to prepare, but for the High Seer, it was absolutely worth the cost.”

Voldemort’s other hand rubbed small circles into Harry’s lower back. Harry shivered and tried to draw away. “The prophecy was a fake?”

Voldemort pulled Harry into what could have been called a hug, but felt more like the embrace of a snake, unwilling to let its prey escape.

“Everything was designed to bring you here. A prophecy only you would understand, so no one could stop you. Your godfather’s kidnapping, the welcoming nature of Grimmauld Place, and of course, a chance to save someone you love.”

Voldemort’s left arm coiled tightly around his waist, while the other roamed his upper back. From any of his friends, the gesture would have warmed him, but instead, a growing chill settled deep into his bones.

The Chamber, the dead, the betrayal—it was too much. Voldemort’s smug possessiveness did little to dampen Harry’s horror.

“This has been a tiring day. Rest here, Harry. I’ll be back for you soon.”

Harry slumped in his arms, his muscles feeling suddenly relaxed. His eyelids drooped.

_No no no no no._

“Rest,” Voldemort said again and this time, Harry could feel the force of his request. Everything went dark.

 

## ~

 

When he awoke, Sirius was there. He had new wrinkles around his eyes and thinning hair, but otherwise, appeared to be healthy. He wore clean robes and had put on some healthy weight.

Sirius was immediately at his side, clenching his hand a little too tightly. “Oh, Harry.”

Harry sat up. He was on a comfortable bed in a small room with walls made of the same stone as the Chamber of Secrets. Thankfully, Voldemort was not there and his emotions were his own.

“Sirius, you’re okay.”

Sirius shook his head, tears welling in his dark eyes.

Harry looked away, unable to meet his eyes. There was a plush green rug covering all but the edges of the room. He couldn’t tell his godfather what he had done with Lord Voldemort.

“I tried to warn you through the house, but I don’t think you heard.”

Harry bit his lip and said nothing. He remembered the fleeting image of Sirius yelling between the stronger images of the house telling him to go to the attic. His stomach sank. How could he have fallen so easily into Voldemort’s trap?

“Voldemort wanted to do a binding ritual on you—one of the powerful ones that required consent. Please tell me you didn’t let him do it.”

Harry stared at the wall. “I...what do you know about the ritual?

“It’s dark magic,” Sirius said, watching Harry’s every facial movement intently. “It binds a person—mind, body, and soul—to the will of the other. It’s an eternal bond, lasting beyond death.”

Harry shivered and Sirius’s face fell.

“No…” Sirius whispered. He clenched his eyes shut and a tear ran down his cheek. “Oh, Harry.”

“It’ll be okay,” Harry said, enveloping Sirius in a hug.

They stayed together like that, hugging and talking, for the rest of the evening. After the first half hour, Sirius composed himself and started making jokes in an effort to lighten the atmosphere. They were two mourning men, pretending not to be for the sake of the other.

Despite his rising depression, Harry couldn’t help but continue to have some level of faith in Tom. He was nowhere near forgiving this betrayal, but they had shared so many good years. They’d looked after each other when no one else would.

But despite all of that, Harry could not shake the sense of dark foreboding that rested in his gut. This wasn’t just his childhood friend he was dealing with—it was Voldemort.

And Voldemort had made him his.


End file.
